Like a Phoenix
by felix2542
Summary: After his visit to Africa , Alex Rider will not be able to cope alone. He must accept that he simply cannot survive without help, as he faces his greatest enemy yet. Only then, can Cub rise from the ashes. Set after Crocodile Tears.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: No money is being made, and no trademark infringement is intended. All recognizable symbols, names, etc. belong to their respective owners.**_

_**For this story, Alex is one year younger. That means that instead of turning fifteen, he is turning fourteen. That's the only major change to the canon, for now. Enjoy!**_

Chapter One

Alex Rider woke up sore, and more than a little confused. This was his third day at St. Dominic´s, and he was fed up. Groggily, he promised himself that he would sleep in his own bed tonight, even if he had to get down on his knees and beg. Three days, since his latest enemy was burned to a crisp.Thankfully, this last night had been mostly nightmare free. He only had a couple of _flashbacks_, as you could call them, of ugly crocodiles and dangerous tribal warriors. He shuddered, and decided that it was time to get up.

"Welcome to the land of the living," said a voice in the room. Alex started, and lost his balance. He crashed painfully to the floor, in an embarassed heap of hospital gown and blond hair. "Oh crap! I´m sorry Alex, I didn´t meant to startle you!" Now, as the person to whom the voice belonged to helped him off the floor, he realized that it was his housekeeper, Jack Starbright.

"Sorry, I didn´t know you were here," he mumbled, cursing himself as he blushed. "Er- I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Good idea...You stink." Jack said, wrinkling her nose in mock-disgust. Alex stuck his tongue out at her, and left with an indgignant _huff._ Jack chortled, and decided to make Alex's bed. Truth was, she was very glad that her ward seemed to be okay. Actually, she told herself, he seemed to be taking this a lot better than she was. She had spent the past week, after being informed by a relieved Mrs. Jones that Alex had been found, trying to find a way to see him. Finally, exactly seventy-two hours ago, she had been picked up at their house in Chelsea at an ungodly hour by a very strict-looking MI6 choffeur, and had been taken to St. Dominics.

Jack had noticed, the first night (dawn, really) she had seen Alex, that this was the worst she had ever seen him. The thirteen-year-old had angry burns along his arms, his normally fair hair was matted with sweat and blood, his clothes were ripped and soiled by mud, water, and blood, and he looked exhausted. Actually, that would be an understatement, she thought. His young eyes had been swollen shut, and worry lines had tainted his normally smooth forehead. His lips were dry and chapped, and his face was generally covered with dried blood. She had held his hand while the necessary cleaning procedures had occured, even though he knew that he wouldn't feel the stinging of the antiseptic alcohol the nurses used, considering the fact that he was out cold.

On the second day, Alex still showed no signs of waking up. After voicing her worry to the doctors in charge, they assured her that his present state was due to extreme exhaustion. During the day, various nurses came and went, some taking some blood, others some urine from the catheter connected to young spy. Jack felt useless as she watched the various nurses come and go, so she jumped in when the nurses decided that Alex was in need of a proper bath.

With her own, signature glare that she had most certainly picked up from Ian, she convinced the nurses to let her alone handle Alex's bath. They wheeled the bed into the large bathroom, and Jack ushered the others out of the bathroom as she got to work. She had been given strict instructions regarding Alex's burns. She had been told that they were first-degree burns, and that they looked a lot worse than they actually were. However, she was still required to completely dry them with a surgical flannel, and only use the specially designed soap. Suddenly, Jack had become nervous.

She had known Alex since the tender age of six, and had bathed him many a time. She had also cleaned up plenty of scrapes, and once or twice had comforted him after he had an accident. However, this was no longer the innocent six-year-old that had welcomed Jack with open arms all those years ago. This was a soon-to-be fourteen-year-old, and Jack was apprehensive. Alex had become a very private person after Ian's death, and had rarely let her into his shell. Only when he was very sick, or very frightened, had she been allowed in. Those two requirements were rarely accomplished, and Jack hadn't taken care of him like this in years.

Thus, she decided she would just wash his face and his hair. She did not remove his gown, for she was terrified to see the damage that been dealt to the poor kid in the last year. She had, of course, seen the scar caused by a sniper's bullet, and had admitedly not slept for at least a week after that, her dreams haunted by Alex's pale face, his extensively wrapped chest.

She shook her head, trying to forget the memory. Getting back to the task at hand, Jack slowly began with Alex's face. Jack took a clean towel and doused it with some lukewarm water, and slowly began to wipe the boy's face clean. She couldn't help but smile as she literally felt Alex's tense facial muscles relax. After his face was the normal, smooth light color, she moved onto his hair.

"Damn..." she muttered, as she rummaged in the cabinets of the bathroom, looking for a shampoo that wasn't just Johnson's Baby Shampoo. Sighing, she grabbed one called "Johnson's Baby Shampoo for Light, Fair Hair," and went back to Alex. _I should have known...this is a pediatric wing of the hospital. As in, for kids,_ she thought.

The stubborn mess that was Alex's hair slowly regained it's normal, sandy appearance. Pleased with her work, she dried of his face and hair, and called the nurses in. They wheeled Alex out back into his room, and left Jack alone with him. She sat there, staring at his sleeping face, and wondered. She wondered if things would ever be the same again, and if Alex's continued abuse by MI6 had already left too much of an emotional mark to be reversed. But she also couldn't help but wonder as to how different Alex looked when he slept. He looked more like the happy seven-year-old than the lethal, weary spy that he was. His face was relaxed, and his mouth was in a sly grin. Jack sighed, kissed his forehead, and went to the leather armchair that was in one corner (this hospital does tend to cater to the wealthy), and fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Now on the third day of his stay, Alex finally felt more relaxed. He stood on the strinkingly white bathroom, looking at his reflection in the large mirror on top of the sink. He was naked, and could see for the first time the extent of his brand new scars. The bandages had come off yesterday, but his skin was still red and very dry where the airline fuel-inspired fire had touched.

He could see his arms, filled with small, but still throbbing scratches. His feet and hands as well. Alex realized that these probably came from running through the contaminated wheat fields, no matter how pleasant the sound had been. He now regretted his carelessness, but realized that he had had no other choice. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts of his past mission.

The young spy inched closer to the mirror, and examined his face closely. To his chagrin, he had no facial hair whatsoever, barely even some peach fuzz. He was way behind some of his friends...or rather, schoolmates, who were already shaving. Alex brushed his teeth with the provided toothbrush and pleasant, minty toothpaste, and replaced his hospital gown with a pair of sweats and a Cookie Monster tee-shirt that Tom had brought back from America, as a joke. Happy and more relaxed than he had been in at least a month, he went out of the bathroom.

Jack smiled as she saw Alex come out of the bathroom.

"You look much better, Alex," she told him, and pulled him into a warm hug.

"Thanks," he replied, his voice muffled by Jack's sweater. "I _feel_ a lot better. That shower really did me well..." he broke off, seeing for the first time the buffet-style meal that was at the foot of his bed. "Food!" He jumped into his bed, a slightly childish move, he knew, but he was ravenous.

Jack laughed, and sat down next to him. "Yeah," she said, grabbing a blueberry muffin. "I realized you would probably be tired of hospital mush, so I pulled some strings." Alex stared incredulously at her, his own crumpet forgotten temporarily in his hand.

"With MI6?" Alex couldn't believe that Jack had gone asked MI6 for a buffet meal.

"No!" Jack laughed, cuffing Alex lightly on the back of his head. She laughed even more at his indignant look, and clarified. "With our neighbor's catering bakery!" They both laughed, happy to be in each other's presence.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Alex turned to his guardian and asked, "So…how've you been?" Jack, who was still trying to gain control of herself, cleared her throat and took a swig of coffee.

"Okay! The house is so empty without you," she sighed, as she chewed on the last morsel of blueberry muffin. "But I could barely stay sane, I was so worried! I didn't know if- um," she cleared her throat and continued; "_when,_ I would see you again."

"I'm sorry Jack," said Alex. Jack felt like smacking her head against the wall as she saw Alex's head hang, and his voice go from light to morose and defeated in such a short amount of time.

"Oh-" Jack pulled Alex close, crashing his head against her shoulder. "Alex Rider, there is _**absolutely**_ no reason to apologize! You did not ask for this job, but you've done everything asked of you and more! You are definitely your uncle's nephew, and your parents' son. They would all be so proud of you, I'm sure of it!" Jack finished her rant, and she felt slightly winded. She was known for her impressive lung capacity, but not when a teenager was pressed tightly against her lungs. That was her fault, though.

Alex listened to Jack's outburst with increasing shock. He had never heard such high praise, not that he could remember at least. His throat suddenly felt very tight, and his eyes stung and watered as Jack held his head onto his shoulder, one hand on his head. They stayed like that for a while, as Alex composed himself.

Taking deep breaths, he stepped out of Jack's grasp. He smiled at her, albeit a tight smile, but a smile none the less.

"Ah-"Jack said; "It's been a while since I've been graced with a trademark, Rider smile!" Alex chuckled at Jack's attempt at humor, and he stood up.

"Jack," he said softly. "Thanks for that…" He didn't need to finish. Jack stood up, ruffled his hair, and grabbed her bag.

"Let's go, kiddo," she said, grabbing his hand. "I've got a cake to bake! What do you want to do for your birthday?" Alex stiffened – he had completely forgotten that he would be fourteen in two days.

"Jack, you don't have to do anything," he said, looking her in the eye. She sighed, but Jack was known to be stubborn.

"Alex, it's high time for you to have something to be excited about," she said, tightening her grip on his hand. By now, they had reached the checkout counter. "So don't you even try to stop me from making your birthday special, because you deserve it. Okay?" Again, Alex was shocked. He simply nodded, and that seemed enough for Jack. When the latter turned to face the lady behind the counter, however, Alex had to take a deep breath to regain his composure. However, he was forced to hastily wipe the wetness from his eyes. He could not lose control…besides, he was too old to cry.

_At least it feels that way…_

Five minutes later, Jack and her ward were chatting happily as they made their way home, through the streets of London. Alex was happy, because Jack was happy. She didn't stop nagging him about his birthday, though, so he finally agreed to let her attempt to bake a cake.

"As long as you don't burn down the house," he murmured under his breath. Unfortunately, Jack heard, and smacked his arm. He winced, the blow had been soft, but it had been to his still healing arm. Jack looked horrified, and apologized profusely. Alex waved the apologies away.

"Let's just go home."

**Hey! You reached the end of the chapter! Thank you so much for reading it, and I hope you enjoyed it! It would mean a lot if you dropped me a line by leaving a review, and constructive criticism is especially welcome! I won't say no to praise though (wink). Expect more to come soon! I have great plans for this story. **

**Have a great day!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys! Thank you to all the people that read and reviewed the last chapter! You guys are my motivation! I have to warn you that this chapter is really more like a filler, albeit a long one. To appease you however, let me tell you that there is plenty of fluff! Anyway, here is the new chapter, enjoy!**_

Chapter Two

After walking for about twenty minutes, Jack stopped suddenly. Alex, not realizing that his caretaker had stopped, continued having a one-sided conversation. When Jack didn't reply, he stopped short and glanced back in surprise to see her about ten yards behind, shuffling her feet guiltily.

"Er- Jack?" he questioned, walking slowly back to her. He couldn't help but inquisitively stare at Jack's immediate direction, to gauge whether she had detected a danger that he hadn't. "What's wrong?" he asked her, as they were now about a foot from each other.

"Well, Alex," she began, wringing her hands in…_shame?_ "About your cake…"

"It was your idea, Jack," said Alex, crumpling his brow in an accusatory stare.

"No, I know!" she said, her eyes widening. "It's just…"

"What, Jack?" asked Alex, losing his patience. He just wanted to go home!

"Well…" she said, looking down at her feet like a child caught eating a cookie before dinner. "It's just that…Ihavenoideahowtomakeacake," she finished in a rush, her words scrunching together and sounding to Alex much like gibberish.

"Are you having a stroke, Jack?" asked Alex, flabbergasted. "What did you just say?"

"I said," Jack took a deep breath, as if about to tell Alex that his room had been turned into a zoo. "I have no idea how to bake a cake…" She shut her eyes, as if waiting for Alex to explode.

"Um…" began the boy, wondering if she was leading him on. "So, what's the problem?"

Jack blinked, as if surprised. "Well, I thought it would be a problem, considering that I promised you that I would make you a cake…" She finished, finally looking at him in the eye. She was apparently surprised to see a small smile form on Alex's face. Then the smile grew, and soon he was laughing, his ribs aching with mirth. "What?" she asked, defensively.

"I thought-" gasped Alex, clutching his ribs. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, as he tried to regain his composure. "I thought you had seen like…a walking shark, or something!" His efforts proven futile, he collapsed once more in a pile of mirth and rib-pain.

"Oh haha," said Jack, sticking out her tongue. "Alex, you're going to have a kitten if you don't calm down…" The laughing teen took several shallow breaths, and allowed Jack to help him up. "So, what should I do?" she asked him, as he seemed to now be able to form a coherent thought.

"We could…" he deliberated, biting his lip. "Jack, I don't want a fuss," Alex said, hoping to win this conversation this time. Jack would have none of that, however;

"This is not a fuss, Alex…" she frowned, and ruffled his hair. "I guess it would be, if I burned the house down…" Jack pondered, making Alex whimper as he chuckled.

"That would be rather a problem," said Alex dryly, finally able to respond like a normal, non-asylum-worthy person. "But, if you really, really feel that this is necessary-"

"I do!" Jack said firmly.

"…then we could buy a cake!" finished Alex, pointing to a little store across the street. Jack followed his gaze, and smiled as she saw that _Le Pain Quotidiene, _one of her favorite French-style bakeries.

"Good idea!" said Jack, and she happily pulled Alex across the street. She ignored his dark mumblings about _unnecessary calories _and _kidnapped for a useless cause. _A little bell resonated above the front door, alerting a plump, jolly-looking man to waltz from the counter to where the pair stood.

"_Bonjour! Bienvenue a Le Pain Quotidiene!" _said the man, with a little bow. Alex had to fight to keep from grinning; he half expected the man to start singing _Be Our Guest,_ from Beauty and the Beast. "How can I help you guys?" the man had obviously reached the extent of his French knowledge.

"We´re looking to buy a cake!" said Jack, enjoying the sweet smell of fresh-baked bread and pastries. Alex breathed in deep, and found comfort in the familiar smell. It's not that Jack often baked, but she went out and bought different cakes and pastries that brought the smell to their quiet home. Somehow, the smell reminded Alex of how his life used to be: Ian, Jack, and him alone; no MI6, no Scorpia, no looking over his shoulder in constant dread of attack. His stomach swooped rather painfully at the thought of his old life, but was saved from further sulking by the jolly fat man from the bakery.

"Well, I have some that may interest you!" he showed them to the counter, where a handful of delectable-looking cakes sat. "What occasion is this for, if I may?" he asked, pulling the lids of the boxes of each of the cakes, so that Jack and Alex could get a closer look.

"His birthday," offered Jack, snaking an arm around her ward's neck. To Alex's dismay and utter embarrassment, Jack continued; "he's turning fourteen! Can you believe it? I can still remember him in diapers! What a cute little bottom you had, Alex," she finished, pinching his cheek. Alex was mortified, but the onslaught continued.

"That's right," said the fat man knowingly. "My own kids seemed to pop out of my wife one day, and the next, they were graduating from Cambridge and Oxford!" He and Jack gushed more about how fast kids grew up, Jack continuously using the embarrassed teen as an example. Finally, Alex had had enough.

"You know what, Jack," he said, a little bit of acid in his tone. "I think I like **that **cake," he pointed to a random cake. Jack took the hint, and they left after she paid for the cake. "I cannot believe you just did that!" Alex blurted out, as they neared their house.

"Did what?" said Jack, playing innocence. Alex was infuriated; she was not getting out of this.

"You embarrassed me in front of that guy!" he said, his face still a deep shade of red. "You pinched my bloody cheek!"

"Language, Alex!" she admonished, pinching his arm. "Besides…it's true. You had the cutest bottom, and you were so hard to catch so I could change your diaper…" she broke off, confused by Alex's smug grin. She had fallen into his trap.

"Jack," he began, pointedly speaking slowly. "When did you first intrude on Ian and me?" Jack was quiet for a moment, then smiled brightly and provided the answer. She was still clueless about the trap she had fallen into.

"2004," she offered. "Why?"

"Because," Alex said, still speaking pointedly slowly. "How old was I in 2004?" Again, Jack eagerly provided the answer.

"You were four," she said. "Weren't you?" Alex nodded, and decided to take pity on her.

"Jack, you never changed my diaper," he said, his grin finally revealing his evil intentions to Jack. "You just made up a complete lie to a random man in a bakery about my childhood antics!" he finished, as they reached their doorstep.

"Hey!" she said defensively. "I didn't totally lie! You did have a cute little butt!" Alex rolled his eyes, and then he crashed onto his couch, slightly exhausted. Jack laughed at that, and Alex stuck his tongue out at her. She responded by smacking him with a pillow, and he was left breathless.

"Cheater," he accused Jack. She had aimed low; much, much too low. As Alex writhed in discomfort and pain, Jack went to the kitchen to put the cake into the fridge.

"What do you want for dinner?" she called out to the pained teen.

"Your head on a platter," was the muffled reply. She chuckled and brought out a couple of plates. Sandwiches seemed like a good idea, since there was very little risk of injury when making them. She got a four pieces of bread, and filled the pairs with turkey breast, Swiss cheese, tomato, lettuce, and mayonnaise.

"Come on, you cannibal!" she yelled out to Alex. "Dinner's ready!" She sat down and filled a couple of cups with water and cherry Kool-Aid, a childhood favorite of Alex. The boy in question filled in the seat in front of her, glaring and wincing as he sat down. "Wimp," said Jack, chuckling as Alex stuck his tongue out at her again.

"Shut up Jack," Alex said as he took a bite from his sandwich. "You found my Achilles…heel," he finished sheepishly. Jack laughed, and took a long swig from her unnaturally red drink.

"So…movie tonight?" she asked her ward, and smiled when his eyes lit up at the idea.

"Sure!" he said, finishing his last bite of sandwich. "What do you want to watch?"

"Well," she began, excitement evident in her eyes. "I just rented _Paranormal Activity Two_, so that might be fun!"

"Sure," said Alex, but his hesitation was not lost on Jack.

"Or, you know…" she said quickly. "We could watch something else…"

Alex waved her off; "Nah, that's fine. I'll get the popcorn ready. See you in five?"

"See you in five!" she agreed, rising from the kitchen table, her arms laden with both of their plates and cups. She was a little worried, because she had never known Alex to hesitate to watch a horror movie. _Oh well…_she thought. _If it gets too bad, we can always turn it off. _

Meanwhile, Alex was busy with a couple of bags of popcorn that were merrily popping in the microwave. He had to admit, he felt slightly ashamed. As a kid, he had always loved the adrenaline rush that came with horror movies. Now, though, after having been through so much, he didn't know if he could handle that much stress.

"Idiot," he told himself. "Suck it up and watch the damn movie…" Bracing himself for what could be a very long night, he walked out of the kitchen with the popcorn in a large bowl, and a couple of glasses of water. He met Jack on their couch in the den, and shivered slightly at the cold air of the house.

"Here," Jack gave him a thick blanket, in which he gratefully curled up under. The movie began, and they both settled down for a fright night. Throughout the movie, especially during the terrifying moments, Jack noticed Alex shutting his eyes and covering his ears, like a child in a thunderstorm.

During one scene, where even Jack's ruthless American blood froze in fear, she heard Alex whimper, the sound muffled by the blanket he was hiding under. He looked so unbelievably cute at that moment, that Jack couldn't help herself when she hugged him to her side, hoping to remind the frightened boy that it was just a movie.

"Hey Al," she whispered, rubbing his back. "It's just a movie, this isn't real."

"I- I know," he said shakily, looking up slowly. "It's just…that was a bit scary." Jack comforted Alex by telling him that she was sure she had just grown twenty gray hairs from that scene alone. Truth was, she was worried. Alex was never one to show discomfort, or _fear,_ the latter especially. _That's it…I'm sleeping with my door open tonight. And so is Alex_, she thought to herself.

While Jack was half-hugging him, Alex was berating himself. He had shown weakness…he had shown that he was afraid of the Hollywood fiction. He had never, ever done that before. For some reason, he felt like the lines between evil and his home had blurred. He didn't think to attribute this thought to his harrowing missions with MI6, rather he thought that he was becoming soft and childish.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Alex, the movie ended. Jack told him that she would handle the cleanup of what used to be a clean carpet, but was now covered with popcorn and spilled water. It turns out that the movie had been a terrifying ordeal for both of them, maybe in different ways. Jack ordered her ward upstairs to brush his teeth and to go to sleep, and Alex complied.

After going about his usual, nightly hygiene, Alex settled into bed. He was still a little shaken from the movie, so he grabbed one of his favorite books of all times: _The Essential Calvin and Hobbes. _He had always found that that book relaxed him, as he imagined all of the crazy stunts the crazy six-year-old with spiky hair and sarcastic tiger pulled. He devoured the comics hungrily, too absorbed in the book to realize that he was dog-tired. Finally, he passed out, the book still in his hands, and the light still on. He hadn´t even gotten a chance to get under the covers.

That's how Jack found him, his head slumped on the book, on top of the baby-blue duvet. She smiled, as she was reminded of the many times she had tucked him in after he fell asleep to one of her own adventure stories. Still smiling from the nostalgic memory, she silently walked to his side. She gently removed the book from his limp hold, and placed it on his bedside table. She slowly pulled out the covers from under him, and then covered him tightly in them. She sat, staring at the sleeping boy, for a long while.

_He looks so much more vulnerable when he sleeps,_she thought. She ran her hand through his thick, golden hair for a while. She noticed how his face relaxed as she did this, and she didn't stop until all of the tightness in his face had disappeared. Finally, she decided it was time for her to go to bed as well. She got up off the bed, and leaned down to place a gently kiss on the sleeping's boy's forehead. Jack left his room, leaving the door ajar, just in case.

There was no need, because Alex Rider had no bad dreams of evil men, torture, rabid crocodiles, or betrayal. Instead, he dreamed of home. He dreamed of fresh baked bread. But most of all, he dreamed of the comfort of being cared for. Finally, things were looking up.

_**Hey! You made it to the end! I really hope you liked it, I know I enjoyed writing it! I'll probably have another chapter for you guys tomorrow, because your reviews have really inspired me. Again, drop me a line! And also again, constructive criticism makes for the best reviews, in my humble opinion.**_

_**Have a great 4**__**th**__** of July!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hey guys! I feel bad…I didn't write **__**anything**__** last night, so I feel bad. I think you might forgive me after this chapter, though. At least, I hope you will. So…yeah. Enjoy!**_

_**By the way, in this story, Alex was born in the summer – not in February.**_

Chapter 3

Jack awoke to the sound of raindrops _thumping _against her beloved home. The red-head smiled, totally content – she absolutely loved waking up to that sound. It reminded her tight spring showers, the smell of sizzling bacon, and freshly baked biscuits smothered in warm, buttery butter.

_Rumble rumble rumble; _Jack felt her heart rate jump as her stomach complained about the lack of physical satisfaction after the food-inspired daydream. After making sure that she wasn't having a heart attack, Jack laid back on her bed. _Freaking Starbright gene…_ she thought; _why was she cursed with being constantly hungry?_ As her stomach thundered again, Jack jumped out of bed for fear that it would cannibalize other, vital organs.

The American hummed to herself as she traipsed through the halls of her peaceful dwelling, making a mental note of the ingredients she would need for the most important meal of the day. As she passed Alex's room, she felt her stomach drop down to somewhere near her navel, as she remembered a _very_ important fact: today, Alex turns fourteen. For Jack, that was a good enough excuse to dote, spoil, and embarrass her ward in front of his friends.

His friends. _Crap- she forgot about his friends. _Looks like Jack was going to have her work cut out for her today, and she needed to work fast. She ran down the stairs, her bare feet padding soundlessly against the woodwork. As she reached the kitchen, she whipped out her phone, ready to make a connect call.

Tom Harris, being a fourteen-year-old schoolboy fresh out of school, was not expected to be awake at eight o'clock in the morning. In fact, if it was up to him, he'd easily sleep through lunch. Unfortunately, fate had other ideas.

"_Sweet Caroline, your love never seemed so good. I've been inclined, to believe I never-"_

Tom cursed as he fumbled blindly for his mobile, wondering angrily who was dumb enough to interrupt his first real summer slumber. When he finally captured the phone, he answered it, thinking only of silencing the offensive noise.

"Wuz goin on?" he asked, his throat dry and raspy from sleep.

"Tom?" asked an amused voice on the other line. "Hi – this is Jack."

"Jack?" he yawned, conducting a search of his mental database for any friends he might have with that name. "Who Jack?" His words were slurred, and the voice on the other line had to stifle a laugh at the boy's expense.

"You know," said the voice slyly; "Alex's Jack. Jack Starbright. The hot red-head, as I've heard you call me. Or rather, you told Alex and he told me." Even in his groggy state, Tom managed to blush brilliantly, and made a mental note to get revenge on Alex.

"Oh- hi, Jack," he said, a little more awake. He got up, and winced as he stretched his tense muscles. "What's up?"

"Not much," said the red-head, as she cracked four eggs into a hot frying pan. "How's your holiday?" Jack continued by beating the eggs violently in the pan, so that the end result would be a pleasurable mix between fried and scrambled eggs.

"Meh…it was nice and peaceful until oh-" Tom paused, and pretended to consult his watch; "until about forty-seven seconds ago, when you interrupted my beauty sleep." He scowled darkly as he heard Jack chortle in amusement.

"Well," she said, now placing the kettle, and leaving the eggs in the still-hot frying pan. "You can get your beauty sleep later, prima donna. Today, you've got other plans." Tom frowned, going through his mental schedule of the day. "Tom?" asked Jack, and he realized that she expected a verbal reply, and was unlikely to have seen him frown, unless she had her own little spy satellite streaming into her tea kettle.

"Um…what exactly am I doing today, exactly?"

Jack sighed in exasperation; "Today is Alex's birthday, Tom. So we're going to throw him a surprise party, after his doctor's appointment." Tom blanched – he had completely forgotten about his best friend's birthday. "So, I want you here at six o'clock with a gift and at least five of your friends. Got it?" Tom agreed quickly, so as not to anger the sleeping fury inside the red-head. After they said their goodbyes, Tom fell back onto his bed.

_Looks like I've got some shopping to do…_ he thought glumly, as he stepped into the bathroom to take a shower.

Alex's senses were assaulted by the smell of eggs and the sound of sizzling sausages, and he could do nothing as his legs carried him to the source of the delicious smell and delightful sound. He stumbled down the stairs, noting that Jack was in a better mood than she normally was on this fine, summer morning. Alex could tell that his caretaker was happy because he knew that she would normally be stumbling in behind him, like a stoned monkey, to make herself what was supposed to be a hearty plate of porridge.

For that reason, he was not surprised when Jack greeted him with a tight hug and a cry of _happy birthday! _He blushed in spite of himself, and plopped himself down on the seat opposite Jack.

"God," she said as they dug into their breakfast. "You're growing up so fast!"

"Jack," sighed Alex, who thought it was way too early to be picked on.

"What?" she exclaimed, amused indignation lacing the word. "It's true! It only took you three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to turn a whole year older!"

Alex snorted, but choked on the piece of toast he had been eating. Jack thumped him hard on the back, and he managed to get the piece down. "You're crazy, you know?" Alex said, his voice serious but his eyes full of laughter.

"Yeah," replied Jack arrogantly. "I know!"

They finished their breakfast twenty minutes later, due to the fact that Jack started a food fight after she lost to Alex in a six minute-long staring contest. Finally, Jack ushered Alex out of the kitchen, pieces of egg and sausage in his fair hair.

"Take a fast shower kiddo!" she sang, and began to clean the wall next to the table, as it had fallen victim to food-missiles launched by both of them. "We gotta' be at the doctor's in thirty minutes!"

"Yeah yeah," he answered, his voice muffled. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." His remark earned another amused chuckle from his caretaker, which was cut off as he began his shower. Ten minutes later found Alex and Jack in the latter's car, driving to the teen's pediatrician.

About three-quarters of an hour later, the nurse came in with the final test of the day.

"Okay sweetie," said the nurse in a voice usually associated with toddlers. "You're going to feel a little prick, but then it'll all be over. Can you be strong for your mommy?"

Alex and Jack were too bemused to say anything, so the nurse took the boy in question to be the "strong, silent type," and that's how Alex ended up with a needle in his arm. He winced, and looked down at the IV-style pipe that was sticking from his arm, expecting to see his blood being stolen from him. However, he was surprised when he didn't see any blood at all coming out.

"Er – isn't blood supposed to come out?" he asked the nurse, who had been studying her nails. She glanced up at him in surprise, and then let out a little, surprised _squeak! _

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, and hurriedly pulled out the needle.

"What's wrong? Why didn't anything come out?" asked Jack, her mouth a tight line of worry.

"It's nothing to worry about, my dears," the nurse stuck the needle into Alex's other arm. However, _still_ nothing came out. "Er – give me a moment, please," and the nurse left, carrying the needle with her.

"I wonder what went wrong," said Jack, more to herself than to Alex.

"I don't know," Alex said through deep breaths. Being stuck with a needle twice for no reason had made him queasy, and he could feel his breakfast churning uncomfortably in his stomach. Jack, noticing his discomfort, promptly asked him what was wrong. "Nothing," he replied, albeit slightly shakily. "It's just…I don't like being poked. And on my _birthday_, as well," he finished, making sure to accent the taboo-like word, so he could get some reaction from Jack. Anything to help him get his mind of his ever-moving breakfast.

"I'm sorry hon," replied Jack, as was to be expected. She ruffled his hair, obviously aiming to comfort him. "We're almost done here. Do you want some water?" she asked, and then handed him a cup after he nodded his acceptance at her offer. As he downed the water in one breath, the door to the room opened once more.

"Good morning, I'm !" said a white-haired man brightly, as he sat down next to Alex. In his calloused hands were the utensils the nurse had been using to torture- to draw blood. _Or attempt to,_ thought Alex darkly. "I heard from nurse Janielo that your blood is rather stubborn, no?" The man had a thick Scottish-accent, but Alex felt himself calm down as the doctor took hold of his arm with gently, practiced hands. "I'll get this done in no time! So, what are you doing after you leave here?" The doctor seemed like a good guy, so Alex humored him.

"Well, it's my birthday - "

"Happy birthday, old boy!" interrupted the doctor, but Alex continued after giving the man a small smile.

"So we are probably going to go out to dinner to _celebrate_," concluded Alex with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, that sounds fun! And you're free to go! See you in a year's time!" said the cheery doctor, and then he left Alex and Jack. Alex hadn't even noticed that the doctor had successfully taken two little tubes of his blood, and he realized that the man had made small-talk in order to keep him busy. He had to give it to him, though – this guy was good.

"Alright!" Jack was on her feet, and was pulling Alex out of the door. "Let's go home!"

For the second time in two days, Jack checked Alex out at the front counter, and then dragged him to the car. Alex couldn't help but notice that she was in a hurry for some reason, but when he voiced his question, she waved him off and told him that hospitals gave her the _"heebie jeebies," _as she put it. _Americans and their weird lingo, _thought Alex, as they pulled into the Rider residence's driveway.

"Come on, Alex!" sang Jack, as she ran out to the front door.

"Jack- " began Alex, stopped in his tracks. Jack was already at the door, and was pulling her keys out.

"Come on, kid! I promise you the grass is greener inside!" she fumbled with the key, but finally found the right one.

"Jack! Get away from the door!" Alex shouted, and sprinted to where she stood. But he was too late, she had opened the door, and they had both crashed into the house.

"SURPRISE!" The word exploded from what seemed like every inch of the small sitting room, and Alex couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat, before he realized what was going on. Alex broke out in a huge smile at the sight of his best friend, who was standing in the middle of the sitting room, wearing a party hat and a whistle around his neck.

"Tom!" Alex exclaimed, and then he noticed another boy standing just behind Tom. "James! What are you doing here?"

"We're here for your funeral – what do you think we're doing here, you dolt?" asked the taller boy in the back. James Healy had been Alex's friend for almost as long as Tom had been, and along with Tom, he didn't believe the rumors that plagued the school concerning the shocked boy standing by the door. Unlike Tom, however, he was not privy to Alex's past exploits with MI6, and Alex liked it that way.

"Happy birthday, Alex!" said Tom, and enveloped his best friend in a tight hug, patting him on the back. Alex returned the hug awkwardly, something that always happened with Tom.

"Aw, you guys are too cute," said Jack from behind Alex, as she snapped a picture of the hugging boys.

"Jack!" roared Alex, lunging for the camera.

"Na ah ah!" she said in a sing-song voice. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited to have good blackmail material to use against a Rider? No, this is mine." And she ran off into the kitchen.

James, chuckling, came over to Alex and gave him a one-armed hug, after pushing Tom into the sofa.

"How've you been, Alex?" he asked, as the two kids took a seat next to a disgruntled looking Tom. "And what's with the burns on your arms?"

Alex wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously, and tried to think of something to escape the sticky situation. When Tom realized Alex's predicament, he came to his friend's aid.

"James," he began; "you know those heat-producing pads that you put on your sore muscles?"

James nodded, looking confused. Alex was completely lost as well, and had no idea where his friend was going with this. However, he realized that he should be thankful for the close call, and he realized that he would have to be more careful next time.

"Well, after a rather intense football match in which Alex lost spectacularly to me, he was rather sore from the amount of times that he fell on his arse." Tom's smart-ass remark earned him a smarting blow to the shoulder form Alex, and he cried out. "HEY! It's not my fault your feet don't follow the laws of physics."

"And just what the ruddy hell do you - "

James cleared his throat, and motioned that he wanted Tom to continue telling him about Alex's burns.

"Well, we got back here at about ten at night, and Alex was being a wimp and crying about his aching muscles," he continued, ducking as Alex smacked him with a cushion. "So naturally, being the natural healer and friend that I am, I offered our fair-haired bruise-whore some Tylenol, but he declined, because he said that he couldn't afford to feel _´drugged,´ _of all things. So, I had to go to plan B!"

"You had a plan B?" asked James incredulously; Tom wasn't known to be a _thinker…_ he was more of the shoot first, ask later type.

"Of course I had a plan B!" said Tom, in mock indignation. "I grabbed a whole pack of those muscle-pain relieving pads, and stuck them all over his body. Turn out though, they can cause some pretty bad burns…"

James was clutching his sides, laughing hysterically. Alex had to admit…the idea was so far-fetched, it seemed like the thing Tom would do on a daily basis. He laughed along side his two friends, feeling oddly light-hearted. He hadn't let his guard down like this in a long time, and it felt good.

They were forced to swallow their laughter as Jack called them to the kitchen for cake, however. As the trio sang the usual chorus for Alex, he couldn't help but feel a lump form in his throat, as he thought about the last year. His life had changed, to say the least. He's made new friends, and many new enemies. But his demons and enemies were pushed to the back of his mind as he blew out the fourteen candles, and made a wish.

_My wish is for things to always be like this. So – normal. So – peaceful._

He blew the candles, and they began to eat the cake so graciously provided by the jolly old fat man at the French bakery by St. Dominics. For the first time in a year, Alex was really, truly happy. He was surrounded by friends, two of whom were basically family, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

_Maybe tonight is going to turn out alright after all, _he thought, as he ate his cake. _And maybe turning fourteen means that I can start over again, with a clean slate. Maybe, just maybe._

Unfortunately for Alex, a covert terrorist group, allied with a notorious criminal organization, had other plans for this new fourteen-year-old.

_**Okay, I'm sorry. Cliff-hanger of sorts, you could say. As it is now 12:12am my time, and I started writing this at 6pm, I'm rather tired. I think I liked this chapter, at least the end. It came together rather well. By the way, the thing with the blood test happened to me. The nurse missed my effing vein TWICE before she finally managed to steal my blood. I almost fainted. It sucked.**_

_**I wonder if this chapter sucked as well. Care to let me know? Drop me a line! And as always, have a great day!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys! I am so motivated from the positive reaction for the last chapter! You guys are super awesome! Super cool! Amazing! Etc, etc. **_

_**Albany: ¡Me encanta que te estén gustando los capítulos! ¡No he podido responder a tus comentarios de la forma normal, porque parece que tienes apagada la función de mensajes privados! ¡Pero solo quiero decirte que cada comentario que me dejas me hace sonreír, y espero que te guste este capítulo!**_

_**So, enjoy guys!**_

Chapter Four

As Alex celebrated his birthday in Chelsea, the mood on the top floor of the Royal and General Bank was tense. So tense in fact, that most of Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones' secretaries had disappeared on a coffee break, afraid that breathing too loudly might get them on the Terrorist Watch List. The two heads of MI6 were crowded around a wall-mounted seventy-inch Samsung AMOLED television.

The images that were being streamed to the screen were - disturbing, to say the least. Mrs. Jones felt sick as a squad of paramilitary soldiers forced twenty men to kneel before them, with their hands on their back. Even Alan Blunt flinched as the paramilitaries rounded up the families of the men, and made them watch as they shot their fathers, husbands, brothers, and uncles in the head, execution style.

"Dear God," said the deputy head of MI6, as she unwrapped a sugar-free mint, and stuck it in her mouth. "Alan…I thought they had already been dealt with!"

"It appears," Alan Blunt removed his glasses, a sign of stress that he only every displayed to his wife and Mrs. Jones. "It appears that they have friends in high places, and they've been able to regroup."

The images from the CIA satellite morphed, and switched into a private video-chat channel, similar to the commercial ones such as Skype, or Messenger. However, this channel is protected by hundreds of levels of false information, encrypted signals, and a round-the-clock monitoring team stationed at Langley, Virginia. Oddly enough, the channel was connected directly the office of the acting director of the Central Intelligence Agency, Michael Morrel.

"Mr. Blunt, Mrs. Jones," Morrel nodded as he greeted the two heads of the CIA's sister agency, his voice and image crystal-clear even though the offices were both an ocean away, and protected by lead-walls and earthquake-proof building reinforcements. "It seems that things have spiraled out of control, as you saw."

"I thought you had agents there," interrupted the head of MI6, in an accusatory tone. "Your agents were supposed to report if the situation disintegrated!"

"My agents were burned," retorted Morrel, his eyes alight with fury. "They were betrayed to the paramilitaries. In fact, they were assassinated the night prior to when this – mass-murder."

Blunt and Jones glanced at each other, before the former apologized to his American counter-part. No matter how heartless he seemed, or how uncaring, he knew how it felt to lose agents. To attend their funerals, and to lie to their families. He also knew that for Morrel's agents, there would be no funeral, because their bodies would have been destroyed.

"What do you propose we do?" asked Mrs. Jones, taking a seat with a tired _sigh_. Blunt followed her lead, and promptly asked for a glass of chilled carbonated water.

"Well," sighed the American director, also taking a seat. "I'm pulling my agents out until we can identify the mole. However, I think it's time for some more direct action. Recent drone intelligence images show large caches of weapons and munitions being transported on mules from the Venezuelan border, and those weapons might be headed to the paramilitary group's base of operations."

"So basically, if we follow the mules, we find the base," clarified the deputy-head of her majesty's secret service. Morrel nodded, and sighed again.

"This has been a very- " the American hesitated, then continued; "_costly_ endeavor, I'm afraid. The president wants a resolution, and he wants it soon. He wants this issue cleared up before Patreus takes over, and for good reason."

"I agree," Blunt said. "I think we need to eliminate this camp as soon as possible. What course of action would you recommend, Mr. Morrel?"

"If it were up to me, I'd blow the shit-hole to smithereens, along with the jungle around it. That way, we won't be directly involved, and there will be no survivors."Blunt was about to agree whole-heartedly with the plan, before he was interrupted by his deputy.

"Directors," she began, her voice stern. "I believe an airstrike would be a disastrous course of action. The collateral damage would be monumental, or have you forgotten that this group is cowardly enough to hide in the middle of three, poor villages?"

Both directors, bit their lips, slightly shame-faced. "I - " began Morrel. "Of course, you're right, Mrs. Jones. What would be your suggestion, then?"

"I think the better course of action is to manually, and personally eliminate the threat," Mrs. Jones offered, her voice laced with confidence that she had earned herself as she rose the ranks of the Special Operations community.

"Are you suggesting a boots on the ground, personal assassination, Mrs. Jones?" asked Blunt, glancing at his partner with a slightly confused look. "Do you know what the political repercussions would be if they were discovered?"

"I agree with Blunt, deputy director," offered Morrel. "If they are compromised, we are going to be forced to burn our agents."

"Then we won't use agents!" said Mrs. Jones hotly. "We'll look outside the intelligence community. We'll place two agents from each organization into a Special Operations military detachment. I'm thinking an SAS unit and a unit of your SEALS," she finished. Morrel paused, thinking over the suggestion.

"Let's say, if I were to agree," began the American. "If I agree to this plan, would we act under the radar, or simultaneously with the special forces in country already?" Blunt, who had been quiet for a while, offered a final resolution.

"I recommend we stay in radio-silence and total isolation for reconnaissance purposes," he began, drawing an approving nod from his partner and his American counterpart. "But once the shit hits the fan and we move in, we get help from the Special Forces already in place.

"Good idea, director," Morrel said, standing up. "However, the Green Berets might be a better choice, seeing as they've been in country for ages and know the jungle better than the SEALS. Now, don't tell anyone I said that, because I would have to kill you."

Blunt and Mrs. Jones chuckled, and stood up as well. "Mr. Morrel, we'll be in contact soon," Blunt said, an air of finality in his voice. "Do not contact your troops yet, but do prepare your agents. It's been good talking to you, and please send my regards to your wife."

"Same to you, Alan, Tulip," finished Morrel. "I'll be waiting for your contact. Goodbye then," and the connection was terminated. After a second's silence, Alan rounded on Jones.

"Mrs. Jones, I want you to contact Breacon Beacons. I want to know which unit is on leave and in the camp. Also, I want you to brief Smithers."

"Will do," she said. "And what about the agents?" she asked. Blunt was quiet for a moment, pondering his choices.

"Daniels, and someone else," he said finally. "I'll get back to you after I speak to the intelligence office over there." Mrs. Jones agreed, and quickly left the office. Blunt sat down, and whipped out the London Times, to see a snapshot of the video they had seen on the front page.

The front page read _Mass-Murder in Colombian Village, twenty confirmed dead. _

"Hm," he said to himself. "Looks like I need to have a talk with President Santos, Mrs. Williams." He said the last to his secretary, who got on the phone immediately. "Oh, and when you're done, I'll take an Earl Gray, and a couple of biscuits. I missed lunch today." With that, he got back to his endless trays of paperwork.

Alex was having a good day. James had already left by seven in the afternoon, and Jack had offered to have Tom stay the night. He readily agreed, but was now at his house getting his clothes and necessary items for a sleepover.

"So, have fun today Alex?" his guardian asked him, as he surfed the channels looking for something to watch.

"Yeah," he said, a smile on his face. "Thanks Jack, it felt good to not have an _unpleasant _surprise, for once." Jack laughed, and plopped down on the seat next to her.

"So, your doctor sent me the results of the exams earlier this morning," she began casually. Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"What? I thought those took forty-eight hours to process," he said, his eyes on the red-head.

"Well, it looks like he didn't want to risk us suing his office after the blood test fiasco," she smirked, satisfied that the protests she had made had been heard. "And with my expertise in law, it's a good thing. We could have sued them to the pits of hell!"

"Aren't you going to be an environmental attorney thingy?" asked Alex, puzzled.

"Well, yes," Jack said, clearly pouting. "But one can dream, can't they?"

"I suppose so, yes," laughed her ward, who stood up to answer the door after a sharp _rap_ interrupted their conversation. "Hey Tom!" he said, and let his friend in.

"Wassup Al," said the shorter boy, as he stumbled through the foyer. "What are we going to do tonight?"

"Well," Jack said, as she bounced into the two boys. "I was going to order some take-out, and you guys can rot your minds playing Alex's new _Assassin's Creed_. Sound good?"

"Sounds good!" both of the kids agreed, and Alex led his friend into his room.

"So," he asked Tom, rummaging through his closet. "Did you bring your airsoft gun?"

"Of course!" he replied, pulling out a medium – sized rifle, and handing it to Alex. The young spy recognized the weapon, having used the real version during his brief sabbatical at Brecon Beacons.

"Nice," Alex said, whistling to prove his admiration. "Where'd you get it?"

"Jerry sent it from Italy," said Tom. "Where's yours?"

"Right here!" Alex handed him his own weapon of choice.

"Bloody hell man!" Tom exclaimed, looking in awe at the fully-outfited SCAR-L modular carbine, most often used by American Special Forces. "Did you buy this?"

"Nah," said Alex. "A- _friend_ of mine got it for me, a couple of missions ago.

"A friend," said Tom, slowly. "As in, another agent?"

"Yup," answered Alex simply. It was true; Ben Daniels had sent him the weapon after working with him against the Snakehead. He had said that maybe they could get together to play sometime. Of course, they hadn't. Not yet, at least.

"So," Tom said, standing up. "Let's go!"

Alex and Tom spent the rest of the night shooting at each other with painful BB's, and only came inside when Jack said that she would eat all of the food if they didn't. They ate a dinner filled with laughs, and they spent the night watching movies and playing video games. It was about four in the morning when they finally passed out, leaning on each other on the sofa.

Jack found them like that the next morning, the television still on, popcorn all over the place. She woke them up by grabbing Tom's rifle, and shooting. She hadn't really thought it would be loaded, but was satisfied when both of them screamed and vaulted behind the couch in fear.

Tom left about two hours later, and Alex helped Jack clean up the mess. In his opinion, it had been the best birthday he had had in a long, long time.

"Thanks for everything Jack," he told his best friend. "I- it was a lot of fun." He blushed when his voice cracked, and blushed even deeper when she hugged him tightly.

"Sweetie, I'm glad you had fun," she said, still clutching the boy. "Now, go clean your room." She pushed him up the stairs, and smacked his behind to get him to speed up. It worked, as Alex ran up after a startled yelp. He ran, laughing, into his room.

The sight that greeted him, however, ended his laughter and mirth abruptly. His mobile was ringing, and his heart fell as he saw the caller ID.

_Mrs. Jones, Royal & General._

_No,_ he thought, his heart beating fast. _Not now! It's too soon!_ Nonetheless, he answered the phone.

"Hullo," he said, his voice deadpan.

"Good morning, Alex," said the deputy-director, in a cheery voice. "How's it going?"

Alex scowled, and wished that she would just tell him his assignment, and not beat around the bush. "It's going well…or as well as it could be," he finished lamely.

"I hear you," replied Mrs. Jones, a trace of sympathy in her voice. "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday on behalf of Mr. Blunt and me."

"Well, er-" he said, taken aback. "Thanks, I guess."

"No problem," Mrs. Jones finished nonchalantly. "Have a great rest, and get better soon. We'll contact you then. Goodbye, Alex."

"Wait," he said loudly. "What do you mean you'll contact-?"

The line had gone dead, along with his hopes for a normal vacation. Of course, he shouldn't have expected MI6 to leave him alone during the two months of no responsibilities that he had. Of course they would take advantage of the fact that he was injured, and thus couldn't really go on vacation.

"Well," he thought to himself as he went back downstairs. "This sucks."

"What sucks?" asked Jack, her head sticking out of the kitchen. _Oops…didn't mean to say that out loud. _"Don't tell me – was that MI6?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But they only wanted to wish me a happy birthday."

"Well," offered Jack. "Isn't that- isn't that a good thing?"

"I mean," Alex met her confused gaze. "It would have been a very…_considerate_ thing, sure, but then they said that they would be in contact. So that's what sucks."

"I hate that," Jack muttered angrily. "You just got back! And they don't even say thank you! Gosh!" Jack fumed, as she paced around the small sitting room.

"It's not like I have much of a choice," retorted Alex, who was getting annoyed for some reason. "I mean, it's really a job only I can do."

"But why?" cried Jack, running her hands through her hair. "Why do they have to put your life in danger with no remorse? Why can't they get one of their adult-agents to do their dirty work? You should be having problems that I can understand! Not things like assassination attempts, criminal organizations, and exploding earrings!"

"Jack, the earrings were a onetime thing. I _warned _you not to touch my clothes after that mission! And just what do you mean by problems that you can understand?" asked Alex, his curiosity spiked.

"You know-" replied the American, her voice still in a higher octave than normal. "Problems like – problems like girls, school, friends, zits…" she finished. Then, as if realizing that she had missed something extremely important, she turned her shocked gaze to her ward. "Oh my God! Have you even had The Talk yet?"

Alex was speechless, color rising quickly in his face. "The – the what?"

"You know!" Jack's voice was bordering on hysterics. "The birds and the bees! The 'if' questions! How babies are made!"

"Jack," Alex managed to choke out; he was beyond embarrassed. "I _**cannot **_believe you're talking about this right now."

"But I have to!" she cried, and Alex feared that she would make permanent tracks in the carpet from the intensity of her pacing. "What if you meet some sexy super-villain's wife whom you have to knock up in order to learn the secret combination to her husband's control-?"

"Bloody hell Jack! I'm fourteen! Gosh!" cried Alex. "I don't think that's going to happen for a long time! I'm not even shaving yet!"

"That doesn't matter!" she shrieked. "Kids half your age are having kids these days!"

At that statement, Alex lost it. He collapsed into a heap of mirth, and was soon joined by Jack. They rolled around the floor, laughing their heads off, and sounding strangely like drowning hyenas. Finally, they managed to regain control of themselves.

"So," gasped Jack, clutching at her ribs. "You definitely haven't met any Bond girls?"

"You know you're the only one for me, dear Jack!" Alex bowed, and had to crash to the floor to avoid the cushion that his caretaker had flung at him. "Hey!" he exclaimed, as he straightened up.

"Be serious, Alex!" Jack chided, her composure finally similar to a regular person's.

"I'm always serious, Jack. Always," Alex finished.

They finished up the day with Jack kicking Alex's butt on his new game, and the night was gone in a blur of laughter as they watched _Bruce Almighty. _Alex went to sleep in peace, his ribs still aching from the conversation he had had with Jack. His dreams would be rather awkward that night, as he imagined Jack giving him The Talk. Little did he know that miles away, two CIA operatives were returning from Iraq, and had already begun to train for their new assignment. At the same time, a handful of hand-picked Green Berets were on their way to the Florida Everglades, in order to begin training for the coming mission. And closer to home, a single MI6 agent was already practicing his Spanish, and getting comfortable with the country's culture. And Alex was blissfully unaware as a squadron of SAS soldiers were returning to their flats after having been briefed by the head of MI6's SO branch. And still, he slept on, his call with MI6 long forgotten.

_**So…what'cha think? I hate to toot my own horn, but I rather liked this. I'm not sure how it ended up with Jack fussing about Alex's sexual education, but I guess that's how the cookie crumbled! Oh, and I was watching Bruce Almighty as I wrote this, if you couldn't tell.**_

_**I think you guys are going to like the new mission. Oh, and whoever guesses who the SAS operatives and who the MI6 agent is, you get a cookie. But I want to know…did you like this chapter? Did you know that you can get 15% or more off of car insurance if you leave a review? And a nice little gecko included as well? Drop me a line, boys and girls!**_

_**Have a great night!**_

_**Oh, and this is my twitter, by the way; roa2542.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Ladies and germs, I am back! I took a two-week-long sabbatical to a resort in a mountain in Colombia, and have had no internet access for a while. But now, I'm here! I really hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

Chapter Five

Jackson Marx was dog-tired, and was therefore allowed to be angry at his boss. Having just gotten back from a red-eye straight from Baghdad, the twenty-seven-year-old was massively jet-lagged, and thus the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately for him, his company had other ideas.

Working the CI (Clandestine Investigation) division at the Central Intelligence Agency meant that he got paid well, and got to travel. He had just completed an essentially boring mission in Iraq, where Marx and his partner were sent to investigate an organized crime syndicate with ties to the Taliban. Unfortunately, when they found the suspected Taliban operatives hanging from various trees in the backyard of the syndicate's base of operations, he decided that two lightly-armed CIA operatives had no business messing around with that particular criminal organization.

Two days later found Marx in a nondescript taxi along with his partner, Jenny Knox, being driven out of Dulles International Airport in Virginia. All he wanted to do at the moment was allow-himself to close his eyes and do something about the horrible sunburn he had acquired in the Middle East. Unfortunately, he had to present himself at Langley to debrief his handler. Jenny broke his train of thoughts when she spoke for the first time since they had gone through passport control.

"I cannot wait to go home," she yawned. "I swear…my feet are so swollen that I'm going to have to stick them in Epsom salt water for the whole damn night. And I want to watch my soap."

"Jenny," Marx sighed. "You have a soap problem."

"It's not my fault! It fills the void!" she huffed. "Besides…I've missed six episodes already!" Her partner shook his head, and stepped out of the taxi. Jenny followed suit, and soon they were in the heart of CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

"Marx, Knox," muttered a tired voice, as they stepped into the director's office. "Welcome back. Please, make this brief."

"Right," began Marx awkwardly. "The day of our arrival presented no challenges or negative occurrences on the agreed game plan, so we slept off the jetlag and took the day to acclimatize ourselves to the culture. Again."

"The next morning," continued Jenny, giving her partner a break. "We met our contact right after the first call to prayer. She gave us an address, and told us to follow it. At that address, we snooped on a couple of thugs who were a little too drunk and stupid to realize that they spilled the beans about the Taliban agents."

"So that night," said Marx, "I paid a visit to the local men-only pub, and was able to record and photograph all four Taliban operatives. On my way to the bathroom, I managed to 'accidentally' trip and slip a tracking flea on one of the operatives. While I was on the throne, I clicked on the transmitter on my allergy-awareness bracelet, and waited for the men to leave."

"After they left," began Jenny, "we gave them a couple of minute's heads-start before hotwiring a couple of motorcycles to follow them. We found their signal at an average-sized house with a big backyard. We vaulted over the back fence, saw the bodies of all four men, and then we left before the shit hit the fan. So…that was our trip in a nutshell."

Director Morrel nodded approvingly, and clapped the agents on the back. "Good job guys. You can save the paperwork for tomorrow afternoon. Take the morning off, get rid of that jetlag."

"Thank you sir," both agents chorused.

"Yeah well," yawned Morrel, as he packed up his briefcase. "I'll need you both fully rested. Tomorrow you will be briefed by Alan Blunt, the director of MI6."

Both agents glanced at each other in confusion, but could not say anything more as Morrel quickly left them alone.

"What do you think that was about?" questioned Jenny as they showed themselves back out of the office. They began to walk to the parking lot, to their respective vehicles.

"I have no idea. Must be pretty big though, if the Brits are in on it too. It better be more interesting than Iraq." Jenny nodded fervently, clearly showing her approval. Marx said goodbye to his partner, and drove off in a discrete, armored 2011 Dodge Charger. He was immediately followed by Jenny in her modified 2011 Mazda Miata, as she left to rest for the night. They would both need it.

Hundreds of miles and an ocean away, Ben Daniels was picking his way through his own flat's locked door. Grumbling oaths about his stupidity to leave his key in the car which he had used as a battering ram, he finally burst through his door.

"Fucking Japanese mobsters…" he mumbled as the young agent stumbled through the foyer and into the sitting room. He plopped himself down on the couch, and tended to a bleeding, pulsating gash on his abdomen. From that moment on, he decided to never again underestimate the damage a pair of nunchuks* could cause.

After disinfecting and cleaning his only wound, he boiled himself some water for a quick cup of tea before bed. As the water boiled, he stepped into the shower. The hot water loosened his tense muscles, and seemed to seep away all of his problems. Ten minutes later, he ran out of the shower to shush his wailing kettle, and drank his tea in bed. Just as he was finishing the drink, his mobile rang.

"Daniels," he sighed, knowing exactly who would be calling at 0345 in the morning.

"Daniels, this is Blunt. Debrief tomorrow at 1600, my office. Goodbye." The discombobulated voice of his oh-so charismatic director rang in his ears, as he lay back in bed. Perhaps he would sleep in tomorrow, and just go in for the debrief. Yes – that's what he would do. He would need the extra energy.

Ben Daniels did not know it, but miles and miles away, two men were cutting their way through the jungle, on their way to a meeting so secret, even they didn't know where it was. That is, until they fell through the jungle floor and onto the conference room. In that room sat the Al Capone of the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia – or the FARC, for short. Next to him sat the vice president of Colombia. And on his other side, the speaker of the house. These men had become disenchanted about their governments, and they turned to one of the most notorious paramilitary groups known to man.

This alliance could result in the end of the world.

_**Hey, you're done! I know it's short, but it's almost 0100, and I'm really tired. By the way, I don't know how to spell nunchucks. So…yeah. I'll try to write again tomorrow, but no promises. I'm getting trucked from one family member to another, and I usually have no keyboard and internet connection to maintain a constant stream of updates. Bear with me ladies and gents, and drop me a line!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Enjoy people!**_

Chapter Six

_His clothes were soaked in blood and rain, his hair matted on top of his now sightless left-eye. His modified M4 assault rifle lay beside him, broken and forgotten. In his shaking, pale hands he clutched his last remaining weapon – his dog tags. As his last remaining teammates arrived next to him, he scanned the area immediately around them._

"_Lieutenant," said one of the men. Sykes, was his name. "What's the plan, sir?" his voice broke on the last word. They were all tired, injured, and tired of fighting. They had all been in-country for months, almost an entire year. They had become friendly with the natives, had even met a couple of promising girls. That had all changed when one of the townspeople realized what they were, and had given them away._

_They had left town that night, in full combat gear. They were ambushed as soon as they were past the gates – mowed down by concentrated machine gun fire. Twelve men had lost their lives, and the others had lain with them to preserve their own. Finally, the men who orchestrated the ambush left them for dead. As soon as they left, Sykes began work. _

_As the Team Six's designated corpsman, he ran through every soldier, living and dead, to try and help. He held the hand of a twenty-year-old newly-wed as he bled to death from a three-inch hole in his back. He stuffed the intestines of a screaming private back into his stomach in a vain attempt at saving his life. And then, when another soldier had stepped on a land mine, he had amputated both of his legs with bolt cutters. _

_Sykes, only twenty-four, was desperate to leave the fighting; to leave this god-forsaken country, and to be with his parents and siblings and nephews and nieces again. As the only remaining Commissioned Officer (CO), it was his job to get him back to them in one piece. So far, he was failing pretty miserably. _

"_I don't know, Sykes," was the man's reply. Before Sykes could answer, the man's dog tags became bathed in the corpsman's blood, as he fell to the ground with no head. And the fighting continued._

Mike Miters woke up with a gasp, his breaths coming fast and his heart out of control. It had been only a dream, however, so he composed himself. He did not deserve to wallow, for he had survived. Mike got out of his bed, and stumbled to the kitchen. Well, it really couldn't be called a kitchen. It had more of a resemblance to a broken-down, twenty-four hour happy hour bar.

He wrenched open his refrigerator, and grabbed the last remaining water bottle. The man downed the whole thing in one, and then collapsed on the floor. Blearily, he glanced up at the curtained window, and was surprised to see sunlight shining through. Judging by the quality of the light, it was about ten in the morning. Mike groaned and stood back up, focusing all of his energy into getting in the shower.

Before he could fall into the bathroom, however, his vibrating phone scared the hell out of him. Cursing wildly at the phone he had dropped, he glanced at the caller I.D.

"Work," said the small screen. He sighed, and flipped the phone open.

"Lieutenant Miters," he croaked, as he fell onto his bed.

"Miters, this is Alec," said the voice. Immediately, Mike perked up.

"What's up, Captain?" he asked, already jumping into his digital-camouflage Battle Dress Uniform (BDU).

"We're on call. Get your ass over to Andrews. You've got thirty minutes. And don't be late – this is a direct order from Mulholland."

"Hooah," grunted Mike, as he hung up the phone. He scrambled to his car, already fully dressed and alert. His heart-rate was spiked – this was the first call in a while. Being in the special forces community meant that you had to be reachable at all times, no exception. That's because the Special Forces worked like a delivery service – except that this was not the kind of pizza the bad guys were usually expecting.

Mike sped through the rush-hour traffic, contemplating the call. Alec, his CO, had said that this had come directly from Mulholland. Lieutenant General John Mulholland, the active director of United States Army Special Operations Command (USASOC), is the head honcho of the U.S. Army's Special Forces. After him is USSOCOM (United States Special Operations Command), and that's all of the Armed Force's special operations divisions. So if this was his order, then it was pretty important.

Mike arrived at Andrews AFB in ten minutes, and sprinted to the SF barracks. There, he was met by Alec, and another one of his teammates, Ramirez.

"Sup Mike?" they said, as he shook both of their hands. Rank seniority does not matter within the SF community as much as it does in the regular Army. "How's it going?"

"It's going," replied Mike curtly. Then he addressed Alec; "Sir – what's the plan?"

"Well," he began, as they sat down on the barrack's bunks. "You know that training stint we did in the everglades?" Miters and Ramirez both nodded and winced – that had sucked a lot. "Well, now I know what that was for. Ladies, we are going to Colombia!"

"Sit down men," ordered SAS Master Sergeant Bryce Howter. "Prepare for mission brief. Wolf, close the blinds."

The man in question closed the blinds, and the room became dark. "What's going on, sir?" asked the puzzled team leader. He knew he was voicing the thoughts of his entire team, and he was curious himself. They had just gotten back from a five-month long stay in Afghanistan, so it was odd that they had been called.

"Wolf," sighed the sergeant. "I know you guys just got back, but K-Unit is the best we've got, and I've got a new assignment."

"What is it?" asked Eagle, his interest spiked. "Please tell me it doesn't involve sand."

"No Eagle, no sand," snorted the sergeant. "But you will be working with American Special Forces and spooks, and one of our own SO agents. So this is pretty huge."

"Well," said Snake, already itching to leave. "Where are we going?"

"You guys are going to Colombia. Send me a postcard when you get there."

Alex sighed contentedly. He was home alone, but Jack had made him a very satisfying quiche and tomato bisque soup – an amazing feat for the red head. He was lying on the couch in the den, watching Deadliest Warrior on the Discovery Channel. The two teams this episode were the CIA and the KGB. If Alex had to bet, he'd say the CIA would win – but only because he had worked for them before. He had no experience with the KGB, and he really wanted it to stay that way.

As the show finished, a knock on his door startled him. Wondering who the hell it could be, he opened the door, and his stomach dropped. "Crawley?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"Hullo Alex," said the man curtly. "How's it going?"

"Um," Alex mumbled. "Not bad. Why are you here?"

"No time for chit-chat, eh?" asked the middle-aged agent. "Okay then. I'll need you to come with me. This location is no longer secure. Actually, if you look to your left, about fifty-six meters away, you will see the glint of a telescopic scope. If you look closer, you will see a civilian Remington 700 sniper rifle. And if you look even closer, you'll see a man about to pull the trigger. So – duck."

Alex hit the deck, just as the shot rang out. "Bloody hell!" he yelled, as he rolled up and ran to Crawley's car. He was surprised to see that Crawley was walking to the car, and realized that he had been tricked too late.

"I'm glad your reflexes haven't been affected by that tomato soup," said the agent, as he locked the doors. "I'm sorry I had to do this, Alex. But you know Blunt – he really has an extreme imagination.

"Wait," Alex retorted angrily. "That wasn't someone trying to shoot me?"

"Nope," replied Crawley, as they drove out of Alex's Chelsea home. "That was an MI6 agent firing a blank. It was the only way I could think to get you in the car without a fight. And hey – it worked!"

"You bastard," spat the teen. "I'm leaving. Stop the car."

"Even if I stopped the car and opened the door, you wouldn't be able to take your seatbelt off. The button is finger-print sensitive. Only I can push it. And don't try to cut it, either. It's made with a Kevlar-infused nylon polymer. Not found in your average car dealership – unless Smithers has a second job."

"I can't believe you're doing this," said Alex, hanging his head in defeat. MI6 had played all the cards right this time, and there really was no escaping the situation.

"Well, let's just say that in my opinion, a phone call would have been better. But you know Blunt – he has a flare for the dramatic."

"I don't care. Jack is going to be so pissed…"

"I've handled that already. We intercepted her at the grocery store. She's heading to the Waldorf Astoria in Disneyworld, Florida. So…don't worry about her."

"It's not her I'm worried about," replied the teen. "She's going to kill me."

"Oh," replied Crawley, as he drove into the underground high-security garage. "I don't doubt that."

They made their way to the top floor of the Royal and General Bank, where Alex knew his death-sentence was waiting. Finally, the elevator opened directly into Alan Blunt's office.

"Alex!" said Mrs. Jones, who was sitting in front of the director of MI6. "How nice to see you!" Alex grunted, and didn't even spare her a glance. She didn't seem fazed by his attitude, however.

"What do you need me to do?" asked the annoyed spy.

This time, it was Alan blunt who spoke. "Well, this is rather complicated. You are going to be working with the SAS, again, as well as with Ben Daniels. I think you've met – correct?"

Alex nodded. At least he wouldn't be alone, wherever he was going. "You'll also be working with a couple of CIA agents, and a detachment of US Army Special Forces."

"Whoa," Alex breathed. He would be working with the world's best military and intelligence operators. This was huge – much bigger than anything he had ever experienced. "Why so many people?"

"Well," began Mrs. Jones. "This operation is going to be a hard nut to crack, and you're going to need all the help you can get."

"Well…" began Alex. "Where am I going?"

"Ah-" said Blunt. "You are going on a nice vacation to the tropical paradise that is Colombia, Alex. I really hope you enjoy it there."

"C-Colombia?" he stuttered. "Where, in Colombia?"

"Oh," Mrs. Jones quickly stepped in, to reassure the young agent. "Don't worry – you aren't going to an active combat zone. This is simply an intelligence gathering mission. Get in, get some info, get a tan, and get out."

"Simple as that," agreed her boss.

Ten minutes later found Alex on his way to Smithers' office, with serious doubts. He had never been to Colombia, but had a couple of friends with family there. He knew the political situation was complicated, but peaceful in most places. He also knew that the one of the oldest, best armed, best organized, and most dangerous guerilla groups was constantly at war with the Colombian Armed Forces and National Police. And of course, he knew that a simple intelligence gathering mission did not require the help of American Special Forces, CIA, and two MI6 agents. Whatever this was, it was big. And he really was not looking forward to being in the thick of it.

And then he thought of Jack, and realized that maybe Colombia would be safer than him having to face the red head's wrath. So, it was with a heavy heart that he stepped out of the elevator and into Smithers' office.

_**So…what do you think? I really liked this chapter. I didn't spend a whole lot of time on K-Unit because we all know them. And yes, Alex is back in the story. Things are getting hot, boys and girls!**_

_**Drop me a line, tell me what you think! Reviews make me feel very warm and fuzzy inside! Hint hint! **_

_**Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter! **__**Read on!**_

Chapter 7

"Alex m'boy!" was the exclamation that the boy in question heard as he stepped out of the elevator into Smither's office. "How are things?" The burly agent clapped him on the shoulder – hard enough to make him stumble.

"Hey Mr. Smithers," Alex couldn't supress a grin; Smithers really was the only person in this building he could call a friend. "I'm doing well. How about you?"

"I'm peachy!" he laughed, motioning Alex forward and out of the elevator foyer. "Making gadgets for you is always so much fun! Really makes me think hard, ya know?" Alex laughed, and sat down in the chair Smithers had pulled out for him.

"I'm glad I make your job harder than it is, Mr. Smithers," Alex replied cheekily.

"Oh I'll have none of that, if you will," chuckled the older agent. When he spoke again, however, all trace of laughter was gone. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, m'boy? Colombia is a beautiful country, but it's politics are about as ugly as Blunt's armpit."

"Wel, it's not like I had much of a choice, you know. I never do," finished Alex. Smithers sighed, but then bolted out of his seat.

"Well!" he said buoyantly. "No use for moping! Let me show you what I've got!" Smither wobbled to a closet-like room deeper in his office, and came back with a big sack which he proceeded to drop in front of Alex. "Go ahead! Take a peek."

With a mounting feeling of excitement, Alex reached into the sack. The first thing he pulled out was an aluminum, Swiss-made watch. Just from the watch's weight and overall appearance, he could tell that this was no cheap rip off.

"Mr. Smithers!" he exclaimed. "Isn't this a bit too expensive to take on a mission?"

"Well, if you don't want to - "

"No no no," interrupted Alex quickly. "What does it do?"

"Well," began the agent. "It tells time."

Alex waited for Smithers to continue, but when he didn't, Alex was dissapointed. "Is that...all?"

"Of course not old chap!" laughed Smithers. "I wouldn't just give you any old watch. No – this little baby does a lot more than your ordinary time-teller. You see, this little knob on the left is actually a detachable GPS transmiter. When you take it off, you can stick it to any metallic surface. If you don't find such surface in your surroundings, you can remove the micro-adhesive cover that gives it the nice aluminum look. That'll really make the transmitter stick.

"The bottom knob on the left activates the transmitter, so don't forget to press it! That big button that says 'light' is exactly that- a light. But press it twice fast and three LED forward-facing lights will spew out of the top edge of the watch! These are powerful, industrial grade lights too.

"Finally, the two knobs on the right are actually two very, very powerful magnets. The reason the watch is a little wider than most is not just for style, Alex. These two knobs are the head of a hundred-foot long nylon and kevlar infused grappling hook. You can lug up to three hundred pounds on that baby. Of course, I would tie the watch to your belt to do that...wouldn't want to get your hand ripped off."

"Yeah," mumbled Alex. "That would be a bummer."

"Mhm," continued Smithers. "Now, this watch plays very well with your next gadget - "

Alex pulled it out, and gasped in amazement.

"Yup," said Smithers. "That's an iPhone 4. We have a very close friendship with Apple, so we get to use their toys to make ours. You see, this iPhone is not like any other. If you press the two top corners of the phone, the screen will detach and provide you with a handy storage space for something very small and thin.

"Also, the Fallout 3 Strategy Guide app that's installed already is actually a geiger counter- just in case. This phone is unlocked, and it uses MI6 communication satellites, so don't worry about using connections. And Mrs. Jones authorized me to give you a five-hundred dollar Apple Store and iTunes gift card, to use at your discretion."

"Wow..." breathed the teen. He had always wanted the phone, and couldn't have asked for a better gadget.

"The rest of the gadgest will be in your hotel room when you arrive. Now, I'm sorry but I have to show you out," sighed Smithers. "I've got a meeting in about seventeen seconds. If you'll just walk through that portrait, a slide will take you back to the ground floor and the lobby. It was great talking to you! Bye bye!"

After that experience, Alex decided that he really needed to put a slide in his house.

Three hours later found Alex at Heathrow airport, boarding a plane bound for New York. He spent the next ten hours mostly asleep, or playing with his iPhone. As soon as he arrived in New York, he got into a connecting flight to Bogota, Colombia. The airline, Avianca, treated him like royalty as he sat in business class. Five hours later, and he was through immigration and in the American embassy in Bogota.

"Good afternoon, Alex!" greeted a man he had never met. "I'm Michael McKinley, the American Ambassador stationed here. How were your flights?"

"Um," mumbled Alex. He was groggy and jet-lagged, and really wanted to get to bed. "A little on the long side, actually."

"I would imagine," tutted McKinley. "Well, you'll stay here in the embassy tonight, and tomorrow you'll meet the rest of your team."

"Okay..." yawned Alex. "Thanks."

"Your room is at the top of the stairs on the left. Have a good night!"

Eight hours later, Alex was sitting bleary-eyed at the kitchen table, where the Ambassador's kitchen staff were preparing a meal. It consisted of One large, half-foot diameter Arepa – a flat, plain, bread-like circle, covered with cream cheese. Also in front of the hungry teen were two scrambled eggs with corn, guava juice, and to top it off, home-made hot chocolate.

Alex thought that this was one of the best meals he had ever had, if not the best. But after a while, he forgot about the food. There was a rather more pressing matter on his mind – meeting his team. That time woulod come in exactly four hours. Until then, he would have to find something to fill his time. Sighing, he whipped out his new iPhone, and started a new Fifa 10 match.

_**Ta-da! I know it's a lot shorter than usual, but bear with me. Tomorrow I leave for another city in Colombia, so don't expect another update until **__**at least**__** next Tuesday. I'm really sorry about this crazy schedule, but traveling makes it really hard to update regularly. So - I hope you enjoyed this filler-like chapter! I was a little sad when I only got two reviews last chapter...kinda makes me feel that people have lost interest in this story. When you lose interest, I lose interest!**_

_**So pelase, drop me a line! Tell me what you think so far. Now now, be honest! Have a great rest of the week everyone!**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Nine**

"Shut up!"

"What? I'm not doing anything!"

"Eagle, if you start humming one more time, I'm going to castrate you with this spoon!" growled Wolf. Their flight from Heathrow to Newark had been hellish so far, to say the least; after a delayed takeoff from Heathrow, they had spent seven hours on the cramped, Continental plane. Snake and Wolf were content to sleep and watch movies, but Eagle was simply too hyper to be cooped up for mor than ten minutes without the need to bounce around.

"What? Everybody loves 'Call Me Maybe!'" Eagle's retort was drowned out by Wolf's loud and murderous glare. It was safe to say that Wolf's glare was enough to shut him up for the last ten minutes of their flight to Newark.

After they landed, Snake discovered that their late departure from Heathrow had made them miss their connecting flight to El Dorado in Bogota, Colombia. Again, Wolf's displeasure was made known through a very detailed explanation of what he would do if he ever found whoever was at fault for their delay at Heathrow.

"Wolf," Snake muttered. "You realize that you just ruined at least five childhoods of some kids back there? Sheesh..."

"I don't give a crap! Now I gotta call Jones and tell her that we're gonna be fucking late!" Wolf fumed. He was pacing, and the glare on his face was strong enough to make passersby fear for their lives.

"Is anybody else hungry?" offered Eagle. "The food on the plane sucked..."

"Eagle," Wolf growled. "Shut. The. Hell. Up."

"So -" Director Morrel began. "The Brits already have an agent in-country, and they have another one on the way. He'll be there later today."

"Have we worked with him before?" asked Jenny.

"You've worked with the one that's arriving later today," Morrel nodded. "His name is Ben Daniels. He was an SAS intelligence officer before he was appointed to a Special Operations unit. While you guys were in deep cover in Baghdad, he was part of your QRT* team if the shit had hit the fan."

"Good, good..." sighed Jackson. He had worked with other, less capable agents, and he was glad that this one at least could hold his own. "What about the one who's already there?"

"Ah -" Morrel smiled; "I think I'll let Ms. Jones handle that introduction."

"Good morning agents," said a voice behind them. Startled, they whirled around to be met with the Deputy Director of MI6.

"Holy freaking pineapples -" Jenny almost drew her sidearm - she hated surprises.

"I'm very sorry Agent Knox," Ms. Jones sounded more amused than sorry though. "I'm filling in for Mr. Blunt - he was called in for an emergency meeting at Downing Street."

"As you know," she began, both agents immediately alert and ready; "You are leaving at noon to meet up with other agents and a QRT team in Bogota, Colombia. You will insert via commercial airliner - the Colombian 'Avianca,' and you'll rendezvous with my agents and your QRT team at the American Embassy in Bogota. Any questions?"

"Er-" Jackson hesitated - he didn't want to seem overly inquisitive - "what's the mission exactly?"

"Good question Marx. You'll be briefed by at the embassy. But now you lot best be leaving! Your plane leaves in half an hour."

With that, Jones signed off and the agents were on their way. Meanwhile, Ben Daniels was waiting at the front gate of the American Embassy in Bogota, eager to meet up with Alex again.

He had been declared the unofficial "Agent in Charge," and thus was allowed to know the identities of everybody on his team. After finding out that Alex was going to be assigned to this particular detail, he had been worried and happy at the same time. He had managed to arrange for Jack to stay at the Waldorf in Florida in order to take her mind off of her young charge, at least for a while. His other worries, for Alex's safety, were assuaged mostly by the fact that he wasn't planning on letting him out of his sight.

"Welcome to the embassy of the United States, how may we help you?" Daniels's musings was interrupted by the speaker next to the gate which had crackled to life moments after he rang the bell.

"This is Lucas Simmons," Daniels always used whatever codename had been assigned to him while in-country, even before the mission began – one can't be too careful.

"The Ambassador is waiting for you. Please enter, and enjoy your stay!"

Captain Alec Pierce had never been fond of flying - he hated the uncertainty, the feeling of having his life and that of his team in the hands of a third-party. After two and a half hours, Team Six's flight from Miami Dade International Airport was getting on his nerves. They were on an Air Force C-130 cargo plane; it wasn't exactly comfortable, but his men were used to it.

"Hey Mike," yawned Cpl. Ramirez.

"Sup man?" Mike essentially shouted through the thunderous roar of the C-130's engines.

"Remember the last time we were in Colombia?" Mike snorted, and Captain Alec rolled his eyes.

"How could I forget?" he grunted - their last trip was still vividly embossed in his mind. "I'm never going to let you try to wrestle anything bigger than a meerkat baby. That anaconda *almost* took your head off!"

The group laughed - that was the only good memory they had about that trip. Their five-man squad had been ambushed the day after the "anaconda incident," and while none of them were killed, three of the five were honorably discharged due to loss of limb. Hopefully this time would be different.

"Ladies and men with no balls, this is your Captain speaking," a metallic voice came through the plane's intercom. "We are approaching the beautiful airport of El Dorado in Bogota, Colombia. It's been a pleasure trucking your sorry, lazy asses for the past three hours, but we're about to land. So hold on to your lunches!"

The three Green Berets shared a smirk - the fly boys loved to make fun of their Army cargo - but it was all in good fun. After they landed and started off towards the Embassy however, all humor was forgotten as they prepared to get down to business.

**Ladies and gentlemen, I'm alive. It's been more than a year since I last updated this story, and I am so, so, sorry. I could use my crazy Junior year as an excuse, but I honestly just lost my writing mojo. It's summer now though, and I'm a very happy camper! **

**I'm going to try to update at least once a week during the summer, but no promises. Just note that I have not forgotten or abandoned this story! It's been on the back of my mind for the past thirteen months, and I do love it a lot. To all my readers who still remember this story, thank you for giving me another chance! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

¨Why hello Cub!" a voice called through the previously quiet kitchen where Alex was lost in his Fifa game. ¨It´s been a while since I´ve saved your ass!" Alex smiled broadly as he recognized the older spy´s voice.

"Hey Fox," the teen smiled shyly as he got up to shake the older man's hand. "How've you been?"

"You know," Ben shrugged;" the usual. Been behind a desk for a while, so I can't really tell you any interesting stories; But I've heard you've been around huh?"

"You could say that..." Alex laughed. "I didn't particularly enjoy the third-degree burns that almost took my skin off a while ago. Hopefully whatever it is that we're doing will turn out better than my last couple of missions." Alex wasn't trying to appear self-pitying, be just hoped that with so many people in on this mission instead of just the young spy, the mission would turn out better than the last.

"Alex," Ben's voice was serious, his gaze a piercing examination of Alex's own. "You're not alone this time. I've got your back - this is going to go off without a hitch, and you'll be back at school before you know it." Alex grinned half-heartedly - he really couldn't believe what Ben was so sure of. He had been betrayed far too much by far too many people, he couldn't afford to get his hopes up. But he really did want to believe Ben - he'd had enough pain to last a lifetime.

"Gee Fox," Alex sighed. "I really hope so." Ben nodded, his face betraying nothing, and he sat down with a tired 'umf' on the other side of the kitchen table.

"Mr. Daniels," a kindly-looking older woman approached Alex and Ben. "Would you like anything to eat? We have some fresh coffee and fresh-baked Pan de Yucas - would you like some?"

"That would be fantastic, thanks!" Ben was famished – he had slept through the flight and hadn't eaten since London. "Man if this is anything like I remember; this is going to be the most delicious breakfast I've had in a long time…" Ben finished dreamily, and Alex chuckled in agreement. Before Alex could comment further, a shrill buzzer on the kitchen wall announced the arrival of the American detachment the gates of the Embassy.

"Er - "Alex was suddenly nervous; he was fine with Ben, but another group of adults – especially military-types – would most likely be bothered by his presence. "Do you – could you get that?" Perhaps Alex was more transparent than he thought, because Ben smiled reassuringly and gave him a pat on the back as he went to get the door. As soon as Ben left the young agent's line of sight, Alex felt the beginning of a slight panic attack; he hated surprises, especially ones that could possibly affect the outcome of a mission. What if the new arrivals were incompetent and got Alex and Ben killed? Or worse – what if they were such hardened killers that they would write him off immediately as a liability and would dispose of him the first chance they got? As Alex heard a multitude of footsteps, he forced himself to take a deep – albeit shaky – breath in order to pull himself together.

Once the American team caught sight of Alex, they froze. The point – man, clearly the leader of the group, raised an eyebrow and shot a questioning glance at Ben. Alex could feel the situation deteriorating; at least according to the men's facial expressions.

"Um," Alex was standing now, and he cursed the faint pink that was appearing on his cheeks. "I'm A – Alex Rider. Nice to meet you -"

"Alec."

"Marx."

"Mike."

The Americans had sounded off in order from highest ranking to lowest, and to Alex's dismay, their expressions remained stony and cold.

"Are – are you…" Alex's blush deepened as his voice broke – _damn puberty! – _"what are you, exactly?" To Alex's immense relief, the one who had identified himself as Mike finally smiled, even if it was a smug smirk.*

"We're Green Berets – I assume you've heard of us, correct?" Alex nodded – he'd never dealt with the Berets, but he'd read up on American Special Forces during his brief stint with the CIA. "The real question is: who are you?" Alex didn't miss the implied threat, or the way all three soldiers advanced on him subtly.

"As I said, I'm Alex Rider. I work for Military Intelligence, Section 6. You might know them as MI6, for short." Alex had to fight off a satisfied smirk as he saw the soldier's masks slip, revealing disbelief and surprise. "I've been on various missions for different intelligence services, including you CIA and the Australian ASIS. Any questions?"

Alex's rant ended to a stunned silence from the Green Berets. They looked gobsmacked – their mouths were opened in a very unprofessional way, their eyes wide an unblinking.

"_Ahem…"_ Ben cleared his throat, hints of laughter in his voice. "If we're done here gentlemen, I assume you'll want to clean up. Let me show you to your rooms!" Alex couldn't hold back a laugh this time as he watched the soldiers follow Ben, their shoulders hunched slightly.

_Maybe this will work out better than I thought! _Alex thought as he settled back down with his iPhone.

"Er – Wolf?" asked Eagle, his voice shaking slightly. "It seems we've – um – missed our flight. Again." Eagle paled visibly when he saw Wolf's expression.

"Are you -" Wolf's eyes were huge, his teeth bared. He looked a lot more like his codename's likeness rather than a human, and Eagle was terrified. "This. Is. Your. Fault."

"Wha – bu- how is this _my _fault?" Eagle spluttered. Wolf growled and Snake rolled his eyes.

"Eagle, you decided that you needed a Pizza Hut run as our last flight was boarding. Then you went to Cinnabon. _Then you went to the loo! _It's definitely your fault…" Snake huffed, and went to sit back down at their now – empty gate.

"But I was hungry!" Eagle shrieked as Wolf charged him. "Arghhhhh!"

_**I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things, but I won't be able to update for I while I'm afraid. Expect another chapter by next Tuesday, at the earliest. Thank you for reading, and please review! I would love to hear what you think of this story so far!**_

_**Have a terrific week, and a fabulous weekend!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Wolf had never been very patient. In fact, if anyone were to ask any of the men (and women) that had served under him about his leadership style, they would most probably wince and start talking about the weather. Not that he cared of course; in his opinion, his leadership style was effective and reliable. That all changed when his team of SAS soldiers had assaulted the academy on Point Blanc, and he had Cub under his command. Cub - not even old enough to get into an R-Rated movie - had proven himself to be an efficient operator at the very least.

After that night on the cold mountain, he had lost contact with his Breacon Beacons squad-mate, until he sent his post-assassination-attempt get-well card, and even that had been a one-way bit of socialization. To say that he was shocked to find that he was one of the agents they were working with was the understatement of the millennium.

He had been sitting on a couch in the embassy when K-Unit finally arrived, reading a book. Eagle, Snake, and Wolf were stopped short, unsure if the small teen on the couch was an exhaustion-induced hallucination or the real thing. Eagle snapped out of it first, surprisingly.

"Cub?" he asked, incredulity dripping from the single syllable like sap from a young tree.

"Hey, Eagle," the teen's voice was measured, almost cautious. Understandable of course, considering their history. "Snake, Wolf."

Wolf rocketed back to earth upon hearing his name, and he stepped further into the living room. His gaze wandered as he approached Alex, taking in the modern furnishings and noting that they contrasted well with the traditional Colombian-décor. As usual, he was noting different exit points and defendable choke-areas in his field of view as he seemed to meander towards the young teen.

Alex scrutinized the approaching man with unease, feeling twitchy and more than a little afraid. It had been months since the incident at Point Blanc, and he hadn't really interacted much with Wolf (besides the whole help-us-get-in/get shot at part) and he had only ever really talked to him during his time in Wales - therein the reason for his nervous energy. Alex took some deep breaths as he examined the cold, blue eyes of his former squad leader before moving on to studying the rest of the enigmatic Wolf. He was smaller and slimmer than Alex remembered, but he radiated a sense of power and control that he couldn't help but respect.

"Hello Cub," the man's words seemed to break through the tense air of the living room, and Alex realized that Wolf was now standing over him. Intimidating.

"Hullo Wolf," Alex tried to smile but he was sure it looked more like a grimace, so he gave up and simply stood up, trying to seem unfazed by Wolf's piercing glare. "Long time no see."

"Quite," Wolf's voice wasn't harsh, but the volume with which he spoke frightened Alex. There was something in the soft tones that screamed danger, and Alex immediately bristled. Wolf was trying to find weakness in the boy, and the latter knew that their relationship throughout this mission would be deeply affected for better or worse depending on his reaction.

"You're late to the party," Alex's voice was deadpan, and the atmosphere thickened.

Suddenly, Wolf cracked a half smile and everything changed.

"It's good to see you again Cub," he sounded sincere to Alex, and the teen could tell by the handshake they exchanged that Wolf had found no weakness in Alex, and he couldn't help but feel warm with pride. The rest of Wolf's squad-mates walked gingerly into the living room and nodded politely toward Alex, just as Ben made an appearance down the stairs.

"Ah, K-Unit -" he said with a voice filled with sarcasm. "Just how are my favorite reptile/canine/bird combination doing on this fine morning? It's very nice of you to join us."

"Oh shut it Foxy-Woxy," Wolf answered as he clapped the MI6 agent's shoulder perhaps harder than necessary. "It's been too long man..."

"Too right it has!" Snake and Eagle had also joined the welcoming committee and they immediately began pestering Ben about his dealings with MI6.

"You're all idiots," Ben laughed as he nonchalantly changed topics.

Three hours later found the entire team (save for the American CI officers)* sitting in the kitchen of the embassy, most of the men nursing steaming mugs of homemade hot chocolate, standing over different blueprints laid on the kitchen table. The table was segregated; nobody was sitting down, but the American SO men were on the opposite side from K-Unit and the tension was palpable.

"Our last recon flight of an unarmed Predator Drone cruising at 15,000 feet above X-ray's last known position-"

"X-Ray is the American's codename for the enemy on this particular mission," Ben whispered to Alex, who rolled his eyes and stomped discreetly on Ben's foot.

"-and all signs point to an imminent meeting. That means we have less than 48 hours to get to a position from which we can see what those little fuckers are up to," Alex couldn't help but smirk at the endearing term used by whom he thought was the American squad-leader, but he knew that rank meant nothing to them while on deployment. Unfortunately, the soldier saw his smile and immediately rounded on the startled teen.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" the man's gray eyes - glistening with venom - bore a hole into Alex's soul. "Let's get this straight. I don't know what the hell your *superiors* were thinking in getting a kid involved in this, but I do not approve. You're a liability."

"I can take care of myself," Alex rose to the challenge, ignoring the curious glances being sent his way.

"Alex-" Ben whispered in a warning tone as the American approached the boy.

"Of course you can take care of yourself, what was I thinking!" his voice was cool and lifeless, without a trace of humor."I forgot that we were all sent here to help you with your homework, or your girl problems. Oh - have you had the talk yet? Because that's something you need before your body gets riddled with bullets."

"I finished my homework, but I'll help you with yours if you want - I'm rather good at cursive. As for the talk, don't worry - your mum covered it just fine," Alex gave the taller man a humorless-smile and stalked away from the group to retreat into his room before he caused a bout of friendly fire.

The rest of the men had been watching with growing amusement but were brought up short by Alex's hasty retreat, and now they stared at each other in an awkward silence.

"Well..." snorted Eagle. "I'm sure there was a better way to handle that."

"He was asking for it," growled Captain Pierce, the man who had begun the confrontation with Alex. "Honestly, you Brits and your idiotic ideas."

"With all due respect captain," Wolf spat out the last word as if it were the ugliest thing to walk this earth. "Have you bothered to read his file? We all had copies of it in our mission brief, if you'll recall."

"As a matter of fact I did." Pierce stepped closer to Wolf, towering over the small, dark-skinned SAS operative. "But that changes nothing."

"How can you possibly say it changes nothing when - "

"- but I did read your file Wolf. How's your ass doing? Are you still too scared to jump out of a plane?" Pierce finished with a knowing grin, and Wolf's eyes became daggers.

"You best watch yourself, Captain," Wolf growled menacingly, and strode back to where his team was assembled. There was a pause, and then the meeting continued as if the whole confrontation hadn't occurred.

"Right, okay..." Snake stepped up to start from where Pierce left off. "Your birds have given us some very clear thermal images of weapons being smuggled inside coffee bags, mostly on mules and sometimes on troop transports that have been readapted for farm work..." As the briefing continued, the men were too engulfed to notice that Lieutenant Miters had disappeared from the kitchen.

Mike Miters was unsure of what he was doing - all he knew was that instinct was telling him to go talk to the boy that his squad-mate had probably just scarred for life. He had no idea why, and that was a very scary thought. As he stalked up the stairs with the practiced noiseless step of a man well-versed in stealth, he couldn't help but smile as he took in the decorations of the embassy.

the walls were lined with pictures of the US Ambassador to Colombia with President Alvaro Uribe Velez, alongside Bill Clinton after the fabled "Operacion Jaque," pictures of the ambassador's wife and kids back in the states, and different medals for diplomacy and peacekeeping. Finally, his International Affairs doctorate from Harvard had its very own mini-shrine.

He reached the landing and strode quickly and silently to Alex's room - or what he assumed to be his room from the closed door - and knocked gently on the door.

"What?" a muffled voice called from inside.

"Alex? It's Lieutenant Miters. Could I talk to you for a bit?" his voice was hesitant, and he still wasn't quite sure what he was doing at the door of a disgruntled teenager.

Alex was confused as well - the knock had interrupted his fuming, and now he was trying to get himself back under control. After a pause, he opened the door and invited the Lieutenant in. The man didn't hesitate to sit on his small bed across the room and Alex couldn't help the flabbergasted expression that took over his face.

"Um..." Alex cleared his throat. "Are you - do you need something?" The soldier laughed quietly and shook his head at Alex's timid question.

"Nah...I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he laughed, patting the side of the bed next to him. "Captain Pierce can be a crappy load of apples if you don't know how to handle him."

"It's alright," Alex sat down next to the man on his bed, keeping a safe distance. How odd. "I've met the sort." And destroyed them.

"Yeah, I can tell," Miters chuckled at the memory of Alex's confrontation, but when he spoke next his tone was darker and a lot more serious. "Alex - you don't mind if I call you that?"

Alex shook his head.

"Alright cool," Mike sighed. "You've had a rough time man, and I know how it feels. We just got back from a two-year stint in a tiny African village. We had to leave because the shit hit the fan - it sucked."

"What happened?" Alex asked, curious. He had never had another operative in his line of work talk to him as an equal - except perhaps for Ben - and he genuinely wanted to know the man's story.

"Well, the details are supposed to be confidential - blacklist stuff you know?" the lieutenant lowered his voice and continued. "But we were doing fine, getting some good recruits for the little guerrilla army we were training to overthrow the area's royalty - some drug kingpin who's name escapes me."

"Anyway, we were two years into our deployment and were just about ready for the operation to start when the bullets started flying. Turns out some asshole spook from MI6 had double-crossed us and told the stupid drug cartel for a million dollars and a new identity - you can see why Pierce doesn't like you - and we had to bug out fast."

"We were almost clear of the town when we were caught in a crossfire and lost most of our team, except for the ones you see here. We were a ten-man team...the youngest was a kid from the Bronx who was a genius medic - he died in my arms. It was rough Alex," Miters finished bitterly, demons alive in his eyes. Alex felt sick.

"I -" what could he say? "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Miters dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "It's the job. But that's why I'm telling you. You've seen shit that would make grown men piss their pants through their ears. I just wanted you to know that if it ever gets to be too much, you can talk to any of us. Even Pierce."

Alex swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, unable to form words. Miters seems to have understood because he clapped him on the back and left.

"Don't forget man. We're in this together." Alex watched the door close, a long-dormant fire alive in his soul.

I'm back! For good this time.


End file.
